Frivolous Worries
by Hitorako
Summary: Nuriko and Hotohori share a moment. This is probably the first piece of yaoislashwhatever I ever wrote, discovered while rooting through the depths of my D drive, so be warned. Mock and laugh for all you're worth!


**Author's Note:** This is genuine-article badfic. I wrote it years ago, when Fushigi Yuugi was the only anime I'd seen, and I doubt I even knew what yaoi was. It's shallow, flaky, cliched, and as far as I remember, bears no resemblance to the actual events of the series. But hey, this is the Pit of Voles - you never know if someone might enjoy it! At the very least, I found it good for a chuckle.

* * *

Nuriko sat in front of the mirror, brushing his hair with barely-contained rage. It just wasn't looking right today, and the more he brushed it, the worse it looked. For the last several days Nuriko had been dressing in men's clothes, with his hair pulled back into a functional, if not completely masculine, braid. There hadn't been any practical reason for his change in wardrobe; he had just felt like it was time for a change. Now he wanted to change back to his usual style, but it just wasn't working. Brush it to one side and it looks too flat, brush it to the other side and it looks too full, shake it out and it just looks unkempt. It was infuriating, and the quick, fierce brush strokes he was making weren't helping at all, either.

Nuriko set the brush down and sighed heavily, pulling his dressing gown tighter around him. It was silk, with a delicate flower pattern that Hotohori said suited him. Nuriko smiled at the thought of his lover's gentle voice; thinking of Hotohori always made him feel better. They had only been together for two short months, and every day of it had been like a wonderful dream to Nuriko. Every time he saw Hotohori's face, he was reminded that he finally had everything he ever wanted.

No, that wasn't true. There was one thing he still wanted; he wanted this confusion to go away. Since the death of his sister Kourin, Nuriko had been dedicated to her memory, and completely sure of who he was and what he wanted to be. He had felt, all those years, that he wasn't simply dressing as a woman - he was a woman, in every way he could be, even though he had a male body. But now...now there was uncertainty. There were times he simply didn't feel comfortable in women's clothes anymore, and more and more, he had been thinking of himself as a man. Part of this was due to Hotohori - when their relationship had moved to a physical level, it had served as something of a reminder to Nuriko that he was not a woman, and never would be. Those thoughts stayed with him throughout the day, and nagged at him whenever he looked through his closet, which contained far more dresses than anything else.

What did this mean? Maybe it meant that he didn't want to be a woman any more, he thought as he resumed brushing his hair, more gently this time. No, that couldn't be it. He still felt far more comfortable in a dress than in the rough baggy pants that filled a small part of his closet. He still loved being pretty, and having men chase after him (even if he pretended to be irritated by it). So what did it mean? Who was he?

And now this: the hair that refused to cooperate. He had to do something with it before leaving the room he shared with Hotohori. People were paying enough attention to him as it was, as it was no secret where he was sleeping at night, and the last thing he needed was to be caught up in some nasty gossip because his hair looked awful. He pulled it into a loose pile on top of his head and made a a face in the mirror. Letting it fall into soft waves around his shoulders, he rested his chin on his hands and examined his face in the mirror. He was Nuriko, but what did that mean? When would his life start making sense again? Biting his lower lip to hold back the sob that threatened to wake Hotohori, he stared at his face while hot tears trickled down.

He was startled by a soft chuckle behind him. Whirling around, he saw Hotohori standing behind him and off to the side, just out of sight of the mirror. The brown-haired man was wearing a plain cotton dressing gown, but he still managed to make it look elegant, leaning as he was, so casually against the wall. Nuriko stood up and felt his face flush. Quickly casting his eyes downward as the other man walked towards him, he said, "Hotohori...how long-"

Before he could finish the question, a soft finger pressed against his lips, silencing him. A hand reached under his chin, guiding his face upwards until he was looking the taller man in the eyes. The emperor smiled and brought a finger to his own lips, as if to repeat the unspoken statement. Reaching across Nuriko's vanity table to the vase of flowers that stood there, he pulled a delicate bloom from the container. He tucked a few strands of hair behind Nuriko's ears, then placed the flower in his hair, just above one ear. Kissing his lover gently on the forehead, he murmered, "You look beautiful."

Nuriko's eyes filled with tears again, this time of joy. "Do you really mean that?"

"With all my heart."

Nuriko sighed happily and allowed Hotohori to pull him close. Resting his head on the emperor's chest, he breathed in Hotohori's scent and realized that this was what was important. All his questions, all his confusion, none of it mattered. As long as he had Hotohori, he would be Nuriko, and Nuriko would be happy.


End file.
